


Orbital Trajectory Straight Into the Sun

by nachttour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Feelings of Inadequacy, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Muteness, Oral Fixation, Sprites, canon-divergence, davesprite being the chattiest bj recipeint, fluff???, greif, neurodivergent Hal, pesterlogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/pseuds/nachttour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You used to be a computer. You are now a boy, as badass as Major Kusanagi but without the hot lady-bod or a voice. </p><p>You used to be a bird, a conglomeration of possibility, and a 13 year old from Texas. You are now a boy whose legs are a little shaky and whose wings have been sliced off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orbital Trajectory Straight Into the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Newtavore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/gifts).



**0 : Void**

 

Sex between them always starts with a push.

A hand lands on a shoulder and snakes over into a headlock. Fingers tickle down between shoulder-blades. If there is leverage then someone lands on the floor. (Or the bed, the couch, the dining room table, even once over a planter.) 

The door gets closed, the minute that the mood overtakes them. Dave catches the edge of it and pulls it as he rolls into a room. Hal hooks his ankle around the edge and hauls it shut. This time falls into a familiar pattern of the prior meetings of their hands and bodies. Dave pushed and Hal fell to earth. This tumble brought them to rest between the couch and the coffee-table. 

Half-trapped under his chest, Hal is doing his best impression of a rogue model. His hair is mussed from their scrabble and the light from the windows is falling like it was painted on by the hand of a careful master. His tablet fell out of reach, but it is not going to be an issue. Instead of facilitating conversation it is just a layer in between them and what they could find to be doing. 

Dave is right where he wants to be. Draping himself across Hal’s hips, the meat of his dick snuggles along the crotch-seam of his pants. Hal’s as interested as he is. The dimensions of Hal’s junk are something he has considered mapping for use in home-grown sex-toy shenanigans. The real thing is preferable, of course. He’s just upstairs usually, often down to bang. 

They are wrong in a way that always flips around to feeling right again.

Hal’s hands stay free so he can sign. When they do this, it is never about force. Instead it is an indulgence of the senses and a point of commiseration.

Hal’s fingertips skate along his stomach. Brushing along the downy coating of hairs just over his abdomen, he kneads his fingers into the tangle of hair just over his junk. It is a progression that Dave watches with growing anticipation. Hal’s fingertips brush over the base of his cock and he wiggles with impatience. 

When Hal indulges him, Dave pulls his fingers into his mouth to explore their curves with his tongue. This is one such occasion and the hand that is not on him, he draws up to his mouth. Pressing a kiss into the life-line of his palm, Dave slips his fore-finger past his lips. The strength of his nails is a good textural contrast to the yielding warmth of the pads of his fingers.

Fingertips have the densest accumulation of nerves on the human body.

Flashes of Bro’s monotone instruction come to mind -- to remember to guard his hands. The fastest way to get a motherfucker to drop a weapon is to jam their fingers. ‘You want me to show you? I’ll show you.’ Nothing about his present situation needs to include Bro. Thinking about him is a shitshow at the best of times.

Nibbling at the digits pressed into his mouth produces good results: Hal’s face morphing with sensation. The muscles around his eyes crinkle in pleasure and he wrinkles his nose in a way that Dave wishes he could immortalize on camera. The cool distance he maintains in public gets replaced by the delight of a dude that is beneath him and curling his pubes playfully around a finger. 

On fleeting rare occasions Dave coaxes a smile out of him. It subsequently is hidden at speed against his shoulder. Or sometimes pressed against Dave’s mouth as Hal kisses him. Any instance of Hal’s smile is a good one: an upgrade from Bro and the awkward tenderness of Dirk who does not know what to do with him and cannot hide the fact.

Hal’s mouth articulates things that the rest of his face does not share. It drops into sensuous circles and tight lines. He fights it when his lips twist up into a silent laugh or his head rolls back and they fall slack in overwhelmed enjoyment. Drawing a forefinger along the kiss-swollen plumpness of Hal’s mouth makes his pupils flare. 

Pressing his hips down along Hal’s he rocks against the stirring hardness between his thighs.

“We don’t have anywhere to be tonight, huh?”

Hal shakes his head minutely, trailing a hand over the jut of Dave’s hip. There are legs down there, rather than his amorphous tail. The fact slips his mind more often than it ought to. Fingertips tracing out his edges provide solid proof of the body that he does not feel connected to. The thought that Hal has a copy of him ready to be turned into a schematic is soothing in a way that the others cannot grasp. 

[The only thing I have to do tonight is you.]

“Is that a promise or an offer?” 

[It is whatever gets me laid. You tell me.]

“Promise. Definitely a promise. The sort that ends in naked.” 

Dave arches his chin as Hal trails the backs of his fingers along his throat, following the tendons to where they meet his jaw. It makes the skin along his arms ripple in gooseflesh. It is weird to see that none of his down is puffing up in response to the feeling. Having smooth skin is one of a plethora of things about himself that he is adjusting to.

Flopping down along Hal’s chest he invites himself down for kisses. The pressure of Hal’s lips makes him feel like he’s breathing helium. He could float away like this. Anything reminiscent of flying is that which he welcomes. When Hal fists a hand into his hair he moans, going where his companion wills him.

Hal controls things. He watches things before moving. Plans make him happy. 

Dave answers to those traits, when his persona argues he ought to rebel against them. Lacking structure and having that need met in the form of sex implies a few things about his psychological state. It is not a subject that bears close scrutiny. Rose could wax poetic on the subject. It is fun to subvert Hal’s machinations as often as it is to comply with them. Messing up his plans and needling at him to sway the ever-present composure that he fronts with shows the guy Dave likes so much.

"Are you going to fuck my mouth?" 

Dave purrs, watching through blonde lashes and feeling heat light his cheeks. It rushes through the rest of him in sharp contrast to the cool air of the room. His pants are too tight and his dick is rubbing along the zipper. Hal's closeness makes him feel tight and excited. Slipping a hand down to cup himself and indulging in a slow squeeze, it is shortly captured in Hal's. 

"Hold me on your dick while I swallow it? Fuck me until my heart is pounding in my ears and I'm choki-" 

Hal places his thumb in Dave's mouth. Obediently he draws his tongue along it, servicing it like the dick that he wants so much more. 

Releasing the hand that Dave had been using to touch himself, Hal shoulders the burden of that responsibility. Popping the button on his slacks he pushes them down to free Dave's straining man-meat. The head of the Deputy Mayor shines with pre-come and enthusiasm for present company. 

Hal turns his attention between Dave's thighs and  _licks his lips._

Christ in heaven, or Callie or whatever is above and below him. Hal's staring him down like a bag of extra-cheesy Doritos. He scoots forward. Hal's hands settle onto the small of his back, guiding him to a comfortable position. His knees can take this. Hal can take his weight. This means that his dick is getting swallowed like a lollipop and the anticipation of it makes him whimper. 

Hal is more patient than Dave has ever been. Brushing his lips along the underside of his dick, Hal glances up-challenging him to take it. The face of the man below him is crushingly precious, blood gathered along his cheeks and his burning eyes locked straight up and onto his. His freckles stand in sharp relief to the heat pooled beneath them. The warm pressure of Hal's mouth and the tickling brush of his breath slides over his skin. Those puffs of air are slightly faster than normal-coming in half, rather than full second intervals. For a dude with the poker face bestowed by the God of Indifference, his other tells are easy to spot. 

Dave is the one that makes Hal's heart beat faster. He is the one that calls the heat from him and puts it on display. That is power, and not one that Hal tolerates anyone else to hold. 

Hal slides him neatly into his mouth and Dave throws his head back, hollering. All of his instincts scream to rut forward into the warmth enveloping him. Every single muscle wants to haul Hal's head against his hips and hold him still. Instead he digs his nails into his own thighs and whimpers as Hal's tongue navigates the circumference of his base, a hand carefully folding around his balls. 

Dave wants to do the same for him. He wants to shove himself down Hal's throat until he gags around him. Instead, he rocks in slow synchronicity with him with his hand fisted into Hal's hair.  Hal watches him as he moves, pausing to take deep breaths and then sliding Dave back into his mouth like a treat. The wet, slick sounds added to the susurrus of their pants and offhanded grunts. 

"You're so good dude. So good Your mouth is so hot, feels so good. You're my super-favorite and porn stars ain't got nothing on you. If there was dick-sucking olympics everyone would fucking go home because they'd see you standing there looking like some sort of master of ceremonies and know that they don't even have a fucking chance because you are  _so good, so so sogood."_

The statement tapered off into a croon. He can't help talking while he is having sex. There is so much that he feels and so much that he wants to share. After years of being ignored, being listened to is still incredibly cathartic. Hal fixes him with his unwavering gaze and it is everything. 

Gathering his ass into his hands, Hal kneads his fingers in and Dave grunts. The rhythm that he had fallen into is interrupted as Hal pops his mouth off of him. Dave whines in despair, fit for the theatre. Beaming up at him, cheek suffusing his expression Hal smooched the head of his cock. Swiping his tongue along Dave's slit he settled backward, maneuvering an arm free to fist his dick.

Biting his lip so hard that a point of pain blossoms out under his incisor, Dave watches like there is going to be a test. Hal pumps him slowly. The skin of his junk bunches and gathers and the pressure of it makes the nerves along his back sing. If his wings were where they were supposed to be they would be fanning out right now. Pre-come seeps along Hal's fingertips and he pauses, rubbing them together and waggling them at Dave in faux-admonishment. 

"Look, if you basically weren't the blowjob sensei then we would not have this problem." Dave has to chuckle in self-consciousness. The air around them is hot and charged. Time has started to crawl - each moment is amplified. If Hal asked him to, he would haul his ribs open and offer him the molten core of his heart. Their powers interact strangely when they are close like this. 

Hal arches his brows at him - symmetrical little swipes of gold over the eyes that are always roaming for something new to understand. 

"Really and truly - _oh my fucking troll jegus on a pogo-stiiick..."_  

Hal seizes the opportunity to press slick fingers against his hole, stroking gently. Dave's dick is quivering with the hammering tempo of his pulse. He can see his chest shudder with how hard his heart is beating. His ears are ringing. 

"Doit doit doit please  _please **yesss-**_ " 

He lets himself go so hard that it aches. Hal swallows him down with ease that comes from practice, pulsing his finger in and out of Dave. It is not solely the penetration of Hal's mouth that finishes him off - it's the look of meditative pleasure on Hal's face, the pressure of his finger inside of him and the warm living smell of his skin. Sweat beaded itself down his shoulders and slipped down his back. It takes the space of several heartbeats before he feels coherent again. Hal sucks him until he is dry, working until it stops being good and transitions to overstimulating.

Wiggling back Dave kisses him like he is trying out for the romantic lead in a film. His pants are half-off, his face is red as a beet and none of it matters. Hal's mouth is salty and full of the taste of him. There is no higher compliment that he could be paid.

Reciprocity is the law of the land in Casa Strider the Second, the Better one. He rides Hal like a cowboy who got thrown off of one bull too many and is too fucking stubborn to stop. No one in his audience of one is complaining about that. As he coaxes Hal to orgasm, grinding their dicks together in his hand it is the moment just after where he looks at peace.  Hal can focus solely on Dave and all of the pressure that constantly squeezes the joy out of him lifts. 

They have fajitas for dinner. An unofficial campaign launched when they moved in together to eat actual food instead of ramen and chips. Hal obsesses about having food available in the fridge. It is themed by weekday, type, and culinary bent - parameters which frequently shift. It is strange every time he opens a cabinet.  The expectation of weaponry or traps is hard to shake. Jane taught him what the hell dashes and pinches were, and what exactly one applied a julienne cut to. Always helpful, Hal printed him a grid of terminology, cutlery, and cook times. All of the information sat lovingly alphabetized and paired with infographic examples. It occupies a place of honor on the wall next to the cutting boards. 

 

**I The Squad**

 

The townhouse is incredible. A two story place with a glut of windows and the sort of light filtering through them that would make a classical artist jizz their pants. He shoots portraits in the living room, utilizing the broad and warm light from the sun that looks suspiciously like Rose’s aspect. The trees surrounding the property are as robust as they are tall, whispering limbs creating a mellow backdrop of sound. When the wind picks up or John visits they tap on the glass and the crystalline thunks and scratches provide an organic soundtrack for daily life.

Houston sweltered and stank in the neighborhood they lived. There's no mixture of fast-food, car-exhaust, and pot smoke filtering up past the guard rail of the roof. When he chills out in the open air and stares up at the stars wheeling overhead the familiar litany of people screaming at each other on the sidewalk is conspicuously absent. The buzz of something cicada-like and the distant sounds of Can Town float up to greet him. It is disorienting as fuck to sit up and not hear someone hollering at the top of their lungs accompanied by the thump of a bass-boosted Cadillac.

Different does not mean bad.

The room that he has now is open and bright. Ample space exists for his Mac and other drawing equipment. Instead of crowding it all into one corner of a twelve by twelve box with no AC he has room to work and think.  The desk that John and Jade built for him is a good height for his chair and not so irritatingly deep that things at the back are out of reach. The second monitor lounges at an angle, ready to start photographic review after his latest SD card dump. The adjoining space has been split into a dark-room for when the need for traditional processing overtakes him and a showroom for his specimen collection. There is recessed lighting in his cabinets and even John snorting at him will not take his delight at that away.  Aradia has been the absolute best troll-bro in terms of finding him anatomically interesting critters who have departed the mortal coil. She is also a fount of good advice regarding preservation methods and a quick study of what will keep said creatures looking nice in their glass homes.

There are no fucking stairs on his part of the place. With God as his witness, he will never strife on stairs again. Comics and long-running in-joke aside it took just a singular tumble down the lower flight of Jade’s lab to put the idea of trying to scale them firmly out of his mind. His legs just are not down for that, and he can respect their boundaries. Dave does appreciate the pointed lack of flashbacks caused by the removal of that particular architectural element from his life. No more memories of puppets and booby-traps in small spaces, of being too small to jump over things, and too weak to stop the shit flying at his face.

To get to the middle of the house there is a nice, sane ramp that spirals at a comfortable incline to the midlevel of their home. Going up and down the thing has toned his arms into an appreciable set of guns.

Nothing to rival John or Jake the Beefcake English, but they are not the skinny things he started out with upon waking. If he does not get at least one muscle joke from Hal a day he knows something has gone wrong. If it had been intimated that no one in the house had ever participated in a flex-off it was an outright lie. His deltoids were nicer than Hal’s, but Hal’s triceps were not something to be ignored. Both of their biceps are passable, but no one has made a definitive decision regarding whose are better.

Hal's territory is the top floor. There is an elevator between them and a set of curving stairs in the center of the middle-floor for guests. The second floor acts as a no-man’s land where Hal’s workshop sits and Dave keeps his mixing equipment. The sound-proofing along the walls made it the most sensible location for them to work from.

Sometimes Hal descends because hangouts are a thing that neither of them got enough of basically ever. The etiquette for chill in the same space is still being negotiated but things seem promising.The rest of the time he is a ghost hidden two floors above Dave’s head.

His plush and all of the machinist shit stays upstairs. While he does not build stuff as much as Dirk does, Hal nurtures a fascination with the internal workings of things. Anatomical charts and a glut of diagrams paper the walls in his workroom like the physical pintrest of a new age Frankenstein. The minute that he starts trying to raise a cyborg army, Dave might say something but for now he’s content to see what it is that Hal will come up with. Most days he is buried in the computer room, working on esoteric things that have to do with network mapping and the NewVerse DarkNet. All of their electronics are in peak condition at all times. Their network is optimized and blisteringly fast.  

As far as Dave can tell, the Captor troll has the world’s most painful hardon for his house-mate and it is hilarious. Sometimes he will pass by Hal typing on the computer and see a sea of web-safe yellow text flooding up the screen. If he were a nicer man, he would auspice that shit.

He encourages it. Not only are the sw33t haxx funny to observe, it gives Hal someone close to his level to interact with. It is inconvenient when the lights flicker off or things explode, but both of them are skilled at deflecting flying shit.

Today’s hangout has stretched into the late afternoon. Pulling the shades earlier was a bit of a trial but ultimately one that he was successful at. Warm orange light creeps through the little crack at the bottom of their blinds and shimmers along Hal’s ankle. Positioning his chair on Hal’s side of the couch he leaned against the plump cushion that Hal is using as a back-rest. Beaming and inching closer he waits to see where the point of no return is. The answer is five inches from Hal’s ear.

His roommate catches him in the face with his hand, pushing him firmly backward.

Snorting, Dave licks a stripe along his palm. The look of genuine offense is entirely worth it. Scrubbing his hand against Dave’s shirt Hal signs at him, the other still engaged at his keyboard.

[If you do that again I am going to strife you. I know where your mouth as been.]

Holding his own hands up in surrender and staying on his side Dave counts it a win.

“If you’d answer me then I wouldn’t be forced to go all biological warfare on you. Also, I can promise that any cooties lingering in my mouth survived the apocalypse.  Rubbing your hand on my shirt is not going to expunge them. They are the strongest cooties, the ones that were decreed best by the wailing gods at the furthest ring in times before time, not to mention they are shared. Because you put your mouth on my mouth all the time."

Offering an articulate eyeroll in return, Hal drops the molested hand to his thigh, fingers gently tapping over the fabric.

 _Tap. Pause. Tap tap._ The following pause stretched double the one prior. _Tap-tap_.

When Hal is trying to concentrate he taps in binary. Dude is just as neurodivergent as Dirk – not so hot on the eye contact and overwhelmed by others. Coming out of the game, Hal seemed to opt for silence where Dirk was situationally comfortable to chat. At first no one really worried about it -- the collective trauma of Sburb was enough that no one got up in anyone else’s shit about how they were coping. If Hal did not want to utter a syllable no one was going to push it. Shit, he had enough to say for the both of them.

Rose, Roxy and Gamzee all got to be part of the Super Sober Secret Agent club - so named by Terezi who was also the founding member. Jane avoided anything that vaguely resembled a crown or headband. He got tattoos to replace the wings he was missing and started to take pictures while Dave mixed and filmed. When it became very obvious that he would never be participating in parkour again, he started hitting the weights so that he could find control over the parts of his body that did feel like behaving. Hal and Dirk built things. Jade stayed up late into the evenings with him on skype, listening to him talk as she fell asleep to assure herself that she was not alone. A couple of collective years in isolation did that to a person. John obsessively visited, all persons as often as possible. It seemed like the dude could not find it in himself to sleep more than a few hours at a time.

The experience that they shared is the glue wedged between all of their jagged edges and creating a uniform group.

The points where they connect are not all equal.

He and Nepeta were pretty much in a state of direct-connection. She out-ranks his paradox clone and all of the rest of the kid-squad. No one else could match thas level of understanding and synchronicity. Out of all of the sprites they were the ones that got along the best. Other than maybe Fef. He’s willing to share Nepeta with the imperious baby-empress because she deserves to have someone with her who understands the same way.

Anyone that was a sprite and managed to stay that way for any length of time Gets It. Captor and Ampora openly hate each other and generally avoid being at the same functions, but he will see their palms brush and their fingers lace when happenstance brings them together. They also have the same issue in finishing one another's sentences that he and Nepeta share, though they do not do anything as cute as saying Ny'all.

There are times that he can tell she’s having a bad day and her big chunk of a moirail is just not comprehending. There is no play in her texts and her emojis are largely absent. In those instances it is a roll, coast, and a bump over to her hive where Equius graciously has constructed ramps leading throughout the house for his visits.

Other nights she appears in his room like some sort of suburban miracle.  She’ll cozy in along his side as he lays tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, lips brushing his ear and the low and buzzy sounds of Alternian drowning out his jack-hammering heart. She never tells him to get his shit together or to calm down. She remains at his side, talking him out of his own head. It is a kindness. Otherwise he lays prone with fingers knotted against his ribs seeking the sword that is no longer buried there.  

None of them live alone. There is sort of a nomadic quality to the lives that everyone has slotted into, but no one stays by themselves. Everyone that survived the game clumps together because none of the people of the new world could ever grasp it.

It was discovered that Hal’s silence was not so much an inclination as it was an inability. Where Dirk was reticent face to face, Hal did not have a voice. Compounding their differences is Hal’s preference on travel. Mostly it consists of ‘never’ and ‘to nowhere’. The whole 'outside' situation was one Hal noped right out of frequently, striding back inside with the back of his shirt soaked through with sweat and breath whistling through his teeth; like he had run a marathon and could not slow down. It was nothing that Dave could fault him for.

Outside was a pain in the ass. Pitying glances, staring kids and their awkward parents refusing to let them ask a damn question, really fucking high curbs. Honesty was something that could be interacted with and managed. Pity and disgust simply clung to his skin like oil and dirt.

Tina, the super chill therapist that Hal worked with for his agoraphobia had assured him that his tapping was fine and he could do it whenever he wished. Dave appreciates her for not trying to train him to keep his hands still or try and conform to some arbitrary definition of what regular behavior is. Hal was a computer before he had a body and how he chooses to deal with being embodied is all him as far as Dave is concerned. There is a wealth of information hidden in those subtle rhythms – some complex as a drumbeat and others slow and measured. Hal taps out lists – variables, colors, names, places. Instead of having to look at things, he simply parses them in percussion. As another half-machine, it is a familiar skill.

Dave speaks binary, sign, and just about any other language that he puts his mind to. It is a half-hearted gift from the nightmare that the pair of them emerged from. Most days it is hard not to see it as a subtle 'fuck you' from whatever omnipotence stokes the undying pulse of the kernelsprites. Being absurdly good at parsing information is not even half as cool as flying. Or having the standardized human option of functioning legs.

Shit, for a pair of sapient consequences of incredibly poor decisions the two of them were doing incredible. Sure, Hal does not really dig the whole outside situation and prefers to communicate solely in articulate gestures and text; and yeah he kind of is not always able to stand upright at any given time much less flow through the strife forms that were muscle-memory before he was a sprite, but really things could have been so much different.

_The void._

_The expansive breadth of the stars and no air._

_Non-existence._

_Spinning and waiting, always. The pulse of the kernel tapping like a false heart in his chest._

Hal's fingers light briefly against his shoulder. Without comment Dave tilts his head against his hand, fitting his cheek into the curve of Hal's hand. He smoothes a thumb along Dave's cheek, tracing the delicate orbital socket just under his eye and then moving back down to rest under his jaw. There's a new message up that has been insistently blinking on his phone.

“Heh. Sorry dude.”

He finally got around to answering on the issue of Dave’s premiere.

TG: what is your opinion on the group thing tonight

TG: i looked at the plans for the gala and we could both go if you are feeling it

TT: I looked at the layout too and I'm not sure that I agree with you. There is one ramp, but we'll have to walk through a huge group before we can go back to the room that you were suggesting.

TT: That sounds like a cavalcade of bullshit and a lot of prep for nothing.

TT: Dave has these things like every other month. If we skip one I bet that no one would miss us.

Part of him wants to argue, but Hal tends to be right about most things.

TG: pfff

TG: you arent wrong

TG: but it would be kinda cool to go and do the awkward twin thing

TG: and by cool you know that our alts are just as awkward as we are and they would appreciate us being there

TT: …

Glancing along his shoulder at Hal told him all that he needed to know about his companion's feelings on the matter. The set of his mouth was tight and his shoulders had hunched in, protecting himself from the hits that he felt he could not avoid.

It was an unspoken rule around the townhouse that if one part of the sprite squad went, the other would go too.

Hal dropped his hand to Dave's shoulder, squeezing lightly and standing up. The tablet that he had been working on was set on a charging station and the keyboard closed and neatly set to one side.

Getting ready will take a while and Dave headed down the hall to get started, gratified to hear Hal's precise steps pacing him.

  
  
**II. Ghost**

 

“This is a cavalcade of bullshit.”

[I said that earlier.]

Dirk nodded, standing at Hal’s side with his back to one of the support columns at the edge of the room. The crowd in front of them teemed with activity-- consorts, humans and trolls mixing and mingling in a deafening cacophony of noise and movement.

[Why is it that we came again?]

Dave and Dave had claimed a high spot on the floor and were speaking animatedly with a group of partygoers. The director’s long fingers traced nonsense in the air as he made a long and meandering analogy. Though Hal could not see his roommate, the warm tenor of his voice overlaid some of the static-buzz of the crowd.

“We are being good and supportive ecto-siblings.” Dirk sipped at his punch in what Hal recognized to be a nervous gesture, not pleasure at the taste. His own cup sat off to one side of the table. It had a strong pineapple note and the bite took out his pleasure at the fizzy texture.

A person in the crowd detached themselves and came over to their corner of things. Locking their gaze on Dirk the small talk began immediately. It was easy for him like this -- to pretend to be the aloof friend on his tablet. The banalities trickled out of the man’s throat in a steady stream. He attends college at the Skia campus and it is his first semester! This is something he is clearly excited about as his voice hitches when he informs them.

He is in the robotics program! Dirk and he both lean in a bit at this and his paradox-twin begins to actually engage in the conversation. The boy is not their type -- all skinny and pale and ginger-haired. Usually the both of them gravitate to dark boys with big smiles and big arms.

Jake is in the mix of the crowd, in a fixed orbit exactly half of the party away. Whenever Dirk moves, so does he. Jane stands at his arm in a stunningly tailored suit and the pair of them laugh in a way that twists Hal’s heart.

They understand why Jake has to be separate.

They miss him.

Sweet and red is talking at him. Moving his attention from Mr English, Hal arches his brows and types out a question.

/I’m sorry. I missed that./ He is fast, but the party-boy is not patient. He glances down at the tablet and then back at Hal.

“You got laryngitis or something?”

Something. The shame and irritation that hit him simultaneously sap his energy to play nice. He knows that it is not his fault that he communicates the way he does -- but knowing does not make others treat him well. Irritation wars with the better nature he has painstakingly constructed from nothing- - the one that would provide a socially appropriate explanation rather than trolling. The question was -rude-. Tina says that he does not have to divulge anything about himself that he does not wish to. The drunk college-kid who wants to touch Dirk’s dick does not get his life story. He has not earned it _._

Shrugging, he stares at how the boy’s freckles stand out too sharply against the liquor-flush of his cheeks. When the boy is not willing to repeat his question silence drops onto the group. Unwilling to be deterred the interloper stares at Dirk.

“I’m almost out. Come and get a refill with me.”

Dirk’s cup is similarly empty. There is a tell-tale splotch of color across his cheeks. All of those sips add up to loosened inhibitions and comfort in the swirl of people. Heading off after the roboticist he keeps in step with his new friend. Dirk’s fingers brush along the boy’s forearm and he does not take it away. Hal watches their retreating backs, feeling his throat tighten. Clutching his tablet tight against his chest, he takes long and slow breaths.

That is just how it is.

When Equius’ hand lands on his shoulder he does not throw an elbow up into his solar-plexus and run. Nor does he shrink from it. The solid weight of the troll’s hand is welcome. If five more minutes had passed in the sea of faces that are increasingly becoming indistinct he would have broken code and left for home. Home is safe and not this roiling mass of discomfort.

[Hey dude.]

Peering down at his hands from his intimidating height, Equius gives him a slight inclination of the head. “I find this gathering to be both droll and over-stimulating. Why are we here?”

[Because we are good ecto-siblings and hate-friends and we support our bizarre human-troll-cohort?]

The snort from above him eloquently communicates Equius’ opinion.

[What? No good? Then maybe it is because we have hope that we can function in society even though evidence has been STRONGLY to the contrary.]

He accents the sign for strong with an exaggerated flex.

“Perhaps it is something like that. Nepeta wished to come.”

Scanning through the crowd he pinpoints Nepeta’s lanky height and squat horns. She has stationed herself next to Dave and the Director and is leaning against Dave’s shoulders. Sometimes she laughs with them, but mostly she listens.

[She’ll be ready to leave when he is. Then we can go.]

“You are ready now.” It is not a question. Hal leans along Equius’ side and does not care that the moisture-wicking fabric of his tank-top is slightly damp despite its absorbent properties.

[ Did Gamzee come?]

They both knew the answer.

“The high-...Makara did not make an appearance, no. The heretic-red Dave does not make it a habit of inviting he and Pyrope to the same social functions. Our legislacerator is in attendance.”

Not his legislacerator, but Hal does not beleaguer the point. Players are family, that’s just how it is. Any of them need a favor, need someone killed, he’s there for it

Equius stares pointedly forward waiting for him to say the words that are stuck just at his palms, not quite ready to find their way into gesture or text.

“You might as well just say what is on your mind. I know there is something. It is proper to express yourself. You are a man of action.”

Hal slipped his tablet into its carrying-case on his hip.

[I feel like a ghost.]

Equius inclined his head in acknowledgement, hair sliding forward and over his face.  
“If that is the case there are only two options. Either fade away completely, or become an aggressive haunting. I find you to be the second sort. More like the ghosts of my homeworld.”

Delicately resting a hand along Hal’s shoulder and squeezing ever-so-lightly, Equius pushed off the wall and waded back into the crowd.

 

*

 

“How did the two of you manage to get the exact same name?”

Beaming up at the girl with the pretty smile and the short cocktail dress and jewels on her horns, Dave arched a brow. “Well you see, our lusus was very very confused when we joined the being alive party so she just called us the same thing and called it good.”

“You are grossly misrepresenting our hot mom and I approve of it.” Crowing in amusement Dave leans against his chair. Nepeta slipped away moments prior, heading for Equius and the snack-tray.

“But for shiz, we go by different titles when we’re at a thing together.”

The girl turned her attention to Dave, chirring in curiosity. “Yes? What are those?”

“Well he’s the Director of course!” Saluting the man of the hour, Dave took a swig of his drink.

“If he is the Director then what does that make you?” Tapping her claws along the bottom of the cup, the troll girl regarded him with a patient sort of curiosity.

“The Photographer of course. Wanna take a selfie?”

The girl is a good sport and in short order her face is smushed along one side of his cheek and the Director’s is on his other side. They grin and he manages to frame it where no one’s face is cut off funny. When the latest participant of their mischief has wandered off, he glances up at the Alpha Kid.

“You sure I’m not Alpha Dave tonight? I may have totally done the final edits on the last film you put out. If nothing else that makes me the Director of Photography which means I totally jack your title from you and I’m more important than you and your hoity toity artistic ‘vision’.”

“I don’t have the ominous clock ticking in the back of my head, so I don’t think my timeline is doomed dude. This one’s all me.”

The next wave of fans come over and the conversation falls into familiar grooves. The people at the party want to pry Dave’s skin off and eat it or some shit. They think that the tread of his footsteps hold the mapped secrets to comedic genius.

When one of them stares over at him, Dave recognizes the ugly look as soon as it flashes across his face.

“What happened to you dude? The fuck you do to get all paralyzed?”

The fuck did he do indeed. What a piece of shit. He can see Dave’s shoulders go tense next to him and his mouth start to flex as he tries to find the right words to smooth it over. Dave beats him to it.

“Well you see dude, that hella hot chick over there with the glasses and the rocking bod? Yeah, her. I challenged her to arm-wrestling. And she beat me so hard that it broke my fucking back. I just sort of stopped doing the whole walking thing in shame.” Jane was one of his favorite reasons for the chair. Explaining that he was a construct of a universe-birthing game and time-travel does not seem to go over as well.

Drunk and stupid enough not to have realized what the fuck he just did, the sycophant returned to Dave who was gracious enough to steer the conversation to something else. Taking his cup with him to the punch bowl, Dave could not bring himself to go back to the group. Making his way to the back of the gathering-space he took a few candids of the crowd for Dave’s official page, focusing in on a set of smiling consorts, a trio of trolls that seemed to have gotten into an on-the-spot auspisticism, and eventually one of the many loves of his life.

Jade and Karkat stood close with each other, the later beaming around the room and the former growling into his punch-cup. The Director cut through his adoring public to step into their orbit, briefly looping arms around the pair of them and squeezing close. Leaning down to whisper in Karkat’s ear, Dave watched as the troll flashed fangs and then turned for a quick peck on the mouth.  Jade made some sort of amused noise, grinning at the pair of them and going in for one of the same.

It is not jealousy exactly.

Jealousy is an ugly word. It also is a response to things that one believes they have a right to.

“Hey.”

“Sup dude.”

There is another thing that does not exactly belong to him. A best-friend who has slipped up more than once, and told him that he does not say and do the things that he does. That he is an inferior copy. Even if John does not truly acknowledge him as a person, the stupid asshole is still hilarious and his pal. He has to take the dude on his own merits, questionable as some of them are.  

“Kind of a long party tonight I think. There’s a metric crap-ton of people here.”

“You could say it twice and it might even be doubly-true.” Adjusting his shoulders, Dave carefully rotated to get the kink in his back to pop.

“Hal even came out huh?”

“Yeah. Sprite squad rolls deep. Nep n’ Equius are here too.”

“Yeah. Roxy’s here somewhere. She kind of does her thing when we have stuff like this -- she loves people.” Roxy never had to be a sprite, but she and John are often together. He supposes it sort of makes sense. 

Both of them do, but Dave doesn’t bother to correct him. Hot Mom makes an appearance shortly, draping herself around his shoulders and squeezing him.

“Hey D-Stri. What’s good?”

Leaning up and offering his best upward embrace, Dave shakes his head. “Nothing. Thinking it’s getting about time for me to head home. Birds like to get up with the sunrise and shit like that. That and I think Hal’s about done with tonight.”

Glancing over to the little alcove that the pair of them scoped out prior to the party shows his housemate fervently tapping away at his tablet, headphones in and blatantly ignoring any attempts at interaction.

“Yeah dude, I get you. Am I still good to come over for a Halo death-match this weekend?”

“You bet your sassy-molassy Rox. I’m up for getting schooled by you at video-games any time.” He has made it this far through the conversation without calling her mom. Maybe this is going to be the one that he will make it the whole way through. 

“You know I’m playing loser.” John chimes in from the other side, comfortable in their little circle of camaraderie.

“Yeah dude. Whatever. If you can pay attention for that long. You still thinking about barbecuing?”

“I’m thinking about something.” It will probably involve a lot of popcorn and pranks. It usually does when it comes to the pair of them.

“You know I like it when you do super studly stuff like grilling. You tenderize that meat boy.”

Roxy playfully swats at John and Dave has to roll his eyes. All of the couples around him make him feel like shit and he feels even shittier for feeling like that in the first place. Though they make earnest attempts to hang, Roxy and John are both hella social. Invariably something will come up and there will be promises of ‘dude, totally tomorrow’ or ‘can I schedule you in for next week?’.

It does not even make him angry anymore.

 

**III. Trash Kids**

 

Hauling the skinny-tie down his throat and loose, Dave groans. His back is sore, his head is thudding, and his stomach is roiling with a combination of sugar and alcohol-sick. It is officially too hot and Heat was one of the things that was a part of his whole Land in the game. Pulling up their nest-app on his phone he sets the thermostat down a couple of notches and hauls himself onto the big couch.

Transferring himself over he lays prone on his back and lets ennui shroud his feelings. Hal trudges down shortly, headphones on and in sweats and a beat-ass shirt.

Shoving Dave over slightly he wedges himself in between the couch and his left side, pressing his face along Dave’s shoulder. Rolling over slightly Dave lays on him and Hal closes his eyes, white lashes contrasting against the soft skin beneath them.

It was probably not a great idea to go to the stupid party. The next time that Dave invites them, he’s declining. The walls of the house hum with the sound of the air conditioner working. On and off his phone buzzes - notifications from social media, forwarded email.  A text from Nepeta pops up informing him that she will be coming over later in the evening to make snacks and chill.

Hal stretches a hand down- running his fingers up and down, up and down -along the fabric of Dave’s slacks. The rhythmic bump of his headphones is soothing; a mix of some of his baby-tunes. Stuff that he had squirreled away in a folder from the first time he got a beat-machine. It was one of the few things that Bro had given him that brought him genuine delight -- handed over in silence and without any conversation about it.

Carefully pulling his phone up, he makes some aggressive fucking eye contact with the elephant in the room.

 

TG: sorry i hauled you to that shit dude

TG: it was a bad call

TG: next time if you dont wanna go we dont gotta

TT: ...

 

Hal did not bother with his tablet, using one of the slightly dubious electronic relays on his glasses to reply. There was some matrix shit going on with Hal’s neck, but he never let Dave really look at it. When he had tried to poke at it, he was informed that it was ‘Government secrets. Hands off’.

 

TT: It was worth it to go with you.

TT: Even if I had to sit through some shit conversation.

TT: And some of the most basic fucking people I have ever met yet.

TT: I think that the New World is running out of original character archetypes and it starting to recycle.

TG: either that or man were too original to compare

TG: think that it probably is more like that

TG: maybe

TG: dunno

TT: You are unhappy.

TG: two points to slytherin homeslice

TG: how did you come across such an eloquent and stunning realization

TT: Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am a probability calculator and a statistician.

TT: Perhaps it might have something to do with the fact that I live with you.

TT: I mean, could even be that I did facial patterning and have discerned that you have stress mirco-expressions.

TT: Do I get to keep my points?

TG: shit son

TG: you know that you do

 

Turning and resting his nose against the crown of Hal’s head, Dave pursed his lips against the band of his headphones.

 

TG: i guess that its just hard sometimes.

TT: I know.

TG: i know you know  which is why i dont even want to complain really?

TG: but jade and mcshouty were there tonight and so was dave and man

TG: it bummed me out a little i guess

TG: twin game is not fun when youre the funny lookin one

 

Hal snorted, his mouth curving into a subtle smile against his shoulder.

 

TT: So you say.

TT: I had the distinct pleasure of a complete communication-fail with a cute redhead who wanted to haul Dirk off to the back room for a quickie.

TT: The fact that we basically are the same person seemed to have passed his initial observation, but apparently conversational skills are a dealbreaker. Because of course Dirk is so much better at everything, he’s so charming and so wonderful. He plans everything and he’s great with people.

TT: They say that I need to get out to these things and mingle.

TT: They say that the right kind of people will try for me.

TT: Data so far disagrees with all opinions.

TG:  ...

TG:  i think you’re hella cool dude

TT: Says the other broken trash kid.

TT: Shit.

TT: Dude, I didn’t mean it like that.

TG: the truths the truth man i mean

TG: when you are right you are right and in this instance you are super right

TG: however...

TG: we’re the broken copies and as long as we are trying to hold ourselves to the metric of ourselves nothing is going to change.

TG: there were a lot of other game constructs that did not come with us, that got folded into other people

TG: i think that is a special sort of hell to be a facet of a persons mind and be aware of it

TG: no offense

TT: Touche’. None taken anyway. Because as a really smart man said to me kind of recently ‘when you are right you are right and in this instance you are super right’.

TG: we can be our selves

TG: whatever that looks like

TG: we have a similar starting point from dave and dirk, but we’re not them anymore

TG: we saw different shit, we lived through different things

TG: different enough that it almost changes us at a fundamental level

TG: ive been thinking about changing my name dude.

TT: I think you should do it. I find that being distinct from Dirk helps me.

TT: What do you want to call yourself.

TG: gotta keep with the four-letter naming convention and irony game has to stay strong

TG: but yeah how does Bryd hit you?

TT: Yes

TG: i know it’s kind of based on something silly and it might be hard to pronounce

TT: You have to change it. It’s perfect.

TG: ...

TG: cool

TG: was thinking about telling the fam when I finish my crow sleeve

TT: They are going to flip their collective shit and it’s going to be excellent.

TT: So.

TG: yeah

TG: so

TT: What do I have to do to get you naked before Nepeta comes over?

TG: mr strider are you making advances on my virtue

TG: i will have you know that such things are highly encouraged in this part of the world

TG: all chaperones have been sent home and told to get shitfaced while playing music as loud as possible

 

Letting his phone slip from his fingers Bryd turned into Hal’s arms, letting the cushions of the couch cradle him. It slid off of the couch and landed with a muted thud against the carpet. One of them would get it later. If not they could just alchemize another one.

Hal’s mouth came soft light an evening breeze, ghosting over the injuries to his neck - an element mirrored on both of their bodies. It was sensitive in the best way and he offered his throat willingly. The kisses bestowed on his mouth were as warm as embers, suffusing him with heat that shimmered down to his toes.

Even if they did not fuck, it would be fine. He could lay here for hours luxuriating in Hal’s company and his clever hands. They would shoot the shit or enjoy the stillness. The discomfort from earlier was not gone but in context to the moment that they shared it was not everything. Instead they could hang with his best friend and introduce her into the new MMO that Callie sent Dirk and Hal codes for. It was a collaborative storytelling network. The look on her face would be worth it. After they a night to make up for the one they just crashed and burned through they could curl up on the couch with the windows open and let the breeze dance through the studio. Maybe Nep would chill with them for a while, maybe she would make her way home. 

It was not perfect. Not the night nor the world.

Nothing worth it ever was. 

**Author's Note:**

> My heart belongs solely to sad boys who used to be computers or video-game elements :D Thank you for the prompt, I enjoyed it very much.
> 
> I took Bryd's name from askerian's cannons because it's fantastic.


End file.
